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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803700">Sweet Offerings (have your wicked way with me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar'>Phoenix_Soar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wicked Thing [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Chains, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Podfic Available, Porn with Feelings, Scene: Paris 1793 (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Shameless Smut, The Author Has No Excuse For This, Top Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:35:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Crowley is a fanciful thing and he forgets, sometimes, that this is nothing but a wicked game, played between an Angel and a Demon on opposite sides.</i>
</p><p>It's not his fault that he forgets, really; not when Aziraphale smiles at him like Crowley had hung the very stars.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wicked Thing [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Top Crowley Library</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Offerings (have your wicked way with me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part 5 of my 'Wicked Thing' verse. I highly recommend reading the first part <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286790">'Wicked Games'</a> (and maybe <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605847">'When in Rome'</a> too) before this one, to understand its premise.</p><p>The tone of this fic is different from the rest of the Wicked Thing series. It lacks the angsty overtones that feature in the other pre-Armageddon fics, because I wrote this to explore the mindset/feelings of Crowley who has, centuries after their first time in Rome, grown accustomed and resigned to the idea that all he and Aziraphale would ever be are friends-with-benefits.</p><p>
  <s>So I say but the real reason I wrote this fic is that Aziraphale chained up in the Bastille in all his finery frankly made me go feral</s>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley is a fanciful thing, as should not be possible for the characteristically unimaginative denizens of Hell.</p><p>Crowley is a fanciful thing and he forgets, sometimes, that this is nothing but a wicked game they play during clandestine meetings in dark places.</p><p>A wicked game between an Angel and a Demon on opposite sides, where any feeling with the sole exception of lust is not allowed to exist.</p><p>It’s easy to forget sometimes, when Aziraphale is in his arms, soft and tender, smiling at Crowley like he had hung the very stars.*</p><p> </p><p>(* He had. But Aziraphale doesn’t need to know that.)</p><p> </p><p>It happens, humiliatingly often behind locked doors - and just the once, surprisingly, behind locked bars.</p><p>On an otherwise unremarkable day in Paris - the slice of the guillotine has become more or less the norm - Crowley lounges in a carefully crafted pose by a cell door in the Bastille, bemused, if not equally amused, by the latest quandary his ethereal friend has got himself into.</p><p>‘Well, you’re lucky I was in the area,’ he drawls, suppressing a smirk to hide his every intention to poke fun at Aziraphale about this for the next couple of centuries at least.</p><p>Trust Aziraphale, bloody Principality of the Eastern Gate, to waltz into the middle of a revolution dressed in gold brocade and silk shoes*, all for the sake of a few nibbles.</p><p> </p><p>(* He looks absolutely ravishing** in them, but that’s not what Crowley is here for.</p><p>** He looks absolutely ravishing, always.)</p><p>
  
</p><p>Although Aziraphale had failed to mask his delight when Crowley first popped into his cell, he appears more subdued now; pensive.</p><p>‘I suppose I am,’ he says with a subtle tilt of his head, eyeing Crowley carefully.</p><p>Crowley lazily raises an arm, ready to snap his fingers and free the Angel from the ridiculous confines Heaven’s silly rules have cornered him into - and that’s when it begins.</p><p>‘Wait,’ says Aziraphale suddenly, sitting ramrod straight on his pitiful stool.</p><p>Crowley blinks slowly. ‘What?’</p><p>The Angel wrings his hands together, making the heavy chains rattle and drag on the stone floor.</p><p>‘Le-leave them on. For now.’ His voice is very soft.</p><p>Crowley’s arm drops. His jaw joins half a second later. ‘W-what?’</p><p>Aziraphale has his chained hands clasped in front of him. He is watching Crowley with very bright, wide eyes.</p><p>‘I … let me, let me thank you, Crowley … For, for rescuing me.’</p><p>The Demon can’t help but gape, struck speechless from shock.</p><p>They have been doing this, playing this wicked game, for such a long time that Crowley has come to expect it almost every time they meet. But still, he hasn’t been expecting this, for Aziraphale to proposition him <em>right now</em>, right here inside the Bastille.</p><p>‘Y-you … you want me to, us to … here?’ Crowley stammers dumbly.</p><p>Aziraphale glances down at himself; him in his stylish gold brocade and fitted jacket, the lace cravat and those blessed dainty shoes over his white stockinged feet which are, frankly, enough to drive Crowley mad as it is. He looks over his shoulder at the executioner, still frozen in time, before turning back to Crowley, seeming almost self-conscious.</p><p>‘Do you not wish to?’ He licks his lips slowly.</p><p>‘Do <em>you</em>?’</p><p>‘I … I have to, to <em>thank</em> you.’</p><p>He doesn’t.</p><p>Crowley stares at Aziraphale, his mouth dry. Regardless of the thousands of times they’ve fallen into bed together since Rome, they don’t <em>owe</em> each other anything, least of all sex.</p><p>Which means Aziraphale is … making a request.</p><p>Crowley is more used to the Aziraphale who silently leads him to a dark corner or discreet room, than the one who makes verbal propositions.*</p><p> </p><p>(* Ironically, <em>that</em> was the Aziraphale he first knew in that obscure little Roman inn, back in 41 AD.)</p><p> </p><p>It takes him a minute to gather his senses and climb to his feet. His knees threaten to give out.</p><p>Taking a few deep breaths, Crowley approaches the Angel with careful, measured steps. ‘How do you want me?’</p><p>He studies Aziraphale thoughtfully as he asks the question. The Angel is still on his stool, which is neither large nor comfortable, but nothing a quick miracle can’t fix. Crowley supposes he could ride him if Aziraphale wants him on his lap. The chains would make it difficult for Aziraphale to hold him, though Crowley could cling to him instead -</p><p>‘I’m thanking <em>you</em>, my dear,’ Aziraphale interrupts his thoughts. ‘How do you want <em>me</em>?’</p><p>That brings Crowley up short. He gives a startled exhale.</p><p>This is new. Or at the very least, exceedingly rare.</p><p>Usually, their trysts come down to what Aziraphale wants; how he wants to fuck or be fucked. And Crowley, single-mindedly driven to give Aziraphale pleasure in any and every form, has always been happy* to oblige.</p><p> </p><p>(* At least, as <em>happy</em> as you can be while knowing that the one you are besotted with can never be truly yours to have.)</p><p> </p><p>This new pattern, sudden and out of the blue, throws Crowley for a loop. </p><p>Aziraphale’s cheeks redden with every second that Crowley doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t look away.</p><p>‘Surely there must be something you wish of me, as payment. I could, perhaps …’ Abruptly, Aziraphale trails off.</p><p>It takes Crowley’s befuddled mind - now stuck on the term ‘payment’, what in the heaven?! - a few seconds to comprehend that Aziraphale is staring, openly and with unmistakeable want, at his crotch.</p><p>‘It, it has been … <em>such</em> a long time since last we…’ begins the Angel breathily. ‘Oh, <em>please</em>, we could maybe…’ He stops talking again and, meeting Crowley’s gaze briefly, blushes.</p><p>Still somewhat in a daze, Crowley looks down at himself, at the growing tent in his black breeches. He looks up at Aziraphale, catching the Angel’s unsubtle glance at his groin once more as he practically squirms on the stool.</p><p>What does he mean, that it has been ‘such a long time’? It can’t have been much more than ten years since their last meeting, and the two of them have gone even longer without contact before.</p><p>Struggling to gather his scattered thoughts, Crowley haphazardly flips through his mental calendar of their last run-ins - and suddenly, what Aziraphale is trying to say becomes embarrassingly clear.</p><p>They haven’t fucked, properly <em>fucked</em>, in <em>decades</em>.</p><p>As Crowley counts down in his head, it dawns on him that at least the last three of their meetings had ended on terribly unsatisfactory notes.</p><p>They had met in the Highlands of Scotland in 1713; caught smack in the middle of their own assignments, they'd barely had any time to sample the famed whiskey of the region together, much less give each other rushed handjobs in a back alley. Some forty years later, they ran into each other outside a monastery in Italy; one of those rare meetings when both Angel and Demon were presenting as female. What had begun as a more promising tryst, with Crowley enthusiastically grinding her pussy on Aziraphale’s right under the imposing walls of the monastery, had been cut short when one of the nuns came out in search of <em>Sister Angela*</em>.</p><p> </p><p>(* Not the most creative name, but Crowley had to hand it to Aziraphale for the sheer tongue-in-cheek spirit of it.)</p><p>
  
</p><p>And their last meeting, a dozen or so years ago in the Lake District, when Crowley stumbled across Aziraphale while en route to Brighton with a group of humans. He’d had just enough time to sneak away with the Angel, to give him a messy blow job followed by a thorough tongue-fucking in the arse, bringing Aziraphale off right before his company left. He can still remember the expression Aziraphale wore when Crowley bat aside his hand from Crowley’s own painful bulge, leaving the Angel with hastily whispered assurances that he was fine and there was no time for anything else.</p><p>Gazing at Aziraphale now through the haze of memories, Crowley swallows.</p><p>‘You’re right,’ he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. ‘It has been a while. So let me repeat myself, angel - how do you want me?’ Crowley gestures in a general sort of way at Aziraphale. ‘Do you want me astride you? Or against the wall? Fuck me properly?’</p><p>But even as he says it, imagining for a moment what it would be like to be filled again after so long, he notices the swift look that crosses Aziraphale’s face; one that reveals that Crowley’s suggestion is not what he has in mind right now.</p><p>‘On the contrary, I was imagining -’ Aziraphale catches himself. Cheeks reddening, his gaze flits across Crowley’s tented breeches again before he lowers his eyes. ‘Oh, no, don’t listen to silly old me. This, this is for you, my dear. My gratitude. Do as you please. I insist.’</p><p>‘Ah,’ Crowley mumbles.</p><p>He regards Aziraphale, for once sitting quietly, obedient almost, in a manner most unlike him when he wants to take Crowley to bed. The chains scrape over the stone floor as Aziraphale fidgets, a jarring noise in the quiet cell where time stands still.</p><p><em>Leave them on</em>, Aziraphale had said when Crowley tried to miracle off the chains.</p><p>Suddenly, what Aziraphale is imagining becomes painfully, and belatedly obvious.</p><p>Oh, Crowley thinks, feeling hot around the collar.</p><p>Do as he pleases, Aziraphale had said. And what Crowley pleases, always, is to give Aziraphale what pleases <em>him</em>. And that’s exactly what he is going to do - but with the blanket permission to have his wicked way with the Angel, he decides he's not averse to taking a few liberties and detours.</p><p>‘Alright then,’ Crowley says at last.</p><p>Aziraphale looks up immediately, his eyes shining with curiosity, anticipation and utter shameless <em>want</em>. Crowley almost blesses out loud.</p><p>He saunters up to Aziraphale, stopping less than a foot in front of him so that the Angel has to tip his head back to meet Crowley’s eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, Crowley begins to undo the fastenings on his breeches, gauging the way Aziraphale’s pupils dilate when he realises what is happening.</p><p>Pushing down the flap, Crowley winds his long fingers around his cock, already half-hard, and brings it out. Aziraphale’s lips are parted, his breath catching audibly.</p><p>Crowley arches an eyebrow, dropping his hands to his sides. ‘Well? Go on, then. <em>Thank</em> me, angel.’</p><p>Aziraphale meets his eyes wildly, jaw slack. And then he has raised his manacled hands to wrap his fingers around the base of Crowley’s prick, closing the hot furnace that is his mouth - those soft, sinful lips that haunt Crowley’s waking thoughts as relentlessly as they do his dreams - reverently around his head.</p><p>Crowley groans low in his throat, a shiver dancing down his spine as Aziraphale eagerly sucks him. Cheeks hollowed and tongue laving everywhere, he takes Crowley’s cock deeper into his mouth with every bob of his head. His fingers, feather-soft and attentive, stroke the base of Crowley's prick and cup his balls, already taut from arousal.</p><p>It’s not long before Crowley’s hands find their way, as they always do when he has Aziraphale before him like this, into the Angel's hair. He winds his fingers through the fluffy down of his white curls as Aziraphale diligently works his cock.</p><p>He is so beautiful like this, so deliciously obscene and completely anathema to the Heavenly image he projects outside of their little clandestine rendezvous. And it's always the same. Crowley has lost count of how often they have had each other like this, but during every counter that allows Aziraphale to get his mouth on Crowley, he makes a blessed <em>feast</em> of it; kissing and tasting and sucking and swallowing around him, as if nothing can give him greater pleasure than to have Crowley’s prick, hard and leaking for Aziraphale, down his throat.</p><p>Only, Crowley knows that’s not true. There is something that gives Aziraphale infinitely more pleasure and Crowley intends to see to that thoroughly today.</p><p>As Aziraphale greedily sucks him down again, moaning throatily around his cock, Crowley indulges him for a few more seconds before he tightens his grip on Aziraphale’s hair. The Angel whines when Crowley tugs, gentle enough to not hurt but firm enough to drive home the dynamic they have struck with Aziraphale's first breathless offer to <em>thank him</em>.</p><p>With one last kiss to the head of his cock, Aziraphale reluctantly allows himself to be pulled off, his lips red and glistening.</p><p>‘You could’ve come in my mouth,’ he says breathlessly; one of those candid moments Aziraphale occasionally lets slip during their love-ma ... shagging.</p><p>‘Hmm, I could have,’ Crowley agrees amiably. ‘But what I please, right?’</p><p>His lips twitch at the sight of the flush taking over Aziraphale’s face. The Angel is doing nothing to hide how much he is enjoying this, being told what to do to please Crowley.</p><p>Crowley ghosts his fingertips over his cock, the sensitive skin slick from Aziraphale’s mouth. The Angel follows the deft movements, shamelessly wanton; his chained hands are fisted, betraying the physical effort he is making to refrain from touching Crowley again.</p><p>With a hum, Crowley pushes his breeches further down. He takes a step back.</p><p>‘Up.’</p><p>Aziraphale starts with a look of surprise.</p><p>Crowley curls an index finger in Aziraphale's face, a lazy come-hither gesture. ‘C'mon, angel. On your feet.'</p><p>Biting his lower lip, the Angel obeys, only to stumble back, his legs hitting the stool, when Crowley advances on him without warning.</p><p>With a careless grace perfected over millennia, Crowley flops down on the vacated stool, conjuring a minor miracle to give it a small but comfortable backrest as he spreads his legs out in front him in his usual sprawl. Lazily palming his erect cock, proudly on display through the open flap of his breeches, Crowley looks up to meet Aziraphale’s wide eyes.</p><p>He smoothes his free hand, invitingly, over his black-clad thigh.</p><p>‘Come here, Aziraphale.’</p><p>Crowley can swear that Aziraphale’s eyes light up like the blessed sun outside when he puts together what Crowley intends to do.</p><p><em>Yeah, this is what you wanted, isn’t it</em>, Crowley thinks to himself, quietly pleased.</p><p>Aziraphale almost stumbles in his hurry to get to Crowley, but then draws up short with a frown. ‘My … my clothes…’</p><p>The Demon gives a cursory glance at the fine outfit Aziraphale is wearing. It is exactly the sort of thing he would wish to peel off of the Angel, article by article, to relearn the lay of his lovely body. But as with most of their encounters, they don't have a lot of time.* He can stop time only for so long, and Crowley doesn't expect his concentration to last when he finally has Aziraphale where he wants him.**</p><p> </p><p>(* Even if they did, Crowley doubts that Aziraphale would allow it. The act of lovingly undressing your partner is not a sanctioned part of their wicked game.</p><p>** More accurately, when he has Aziraphale where <em>Aziraphale</em> wants to be.)</p><p> </p><p>With a snap, Crowley miracles Aziraphale’s body-hugging breeches and stockings off his legs, sending them to land on a pile on the grimy floor. Aziraphale yelps in surprise, both at his unceremonious disrobing and the sudden touch of cool air on his bared skin. He shivers as he stands in front of Crowley; the lower half of his body completely nude except for the shiny shoes Crowley left on his feet. His effort, a proud thick cock, is already stiff and leaking.</p><p>Crowley takes in his fill of the view appreciatively. Oh, but does the Angel look good enough to eat.</p><p>‘Crowley, my breeches and -!’ Aziraphale turns to him, wringing his manacled hands and ignoring the racket the chains make on the stone floor. ‘They’ll end up all dirty!’</p><p>‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley tells him, ‘you’re not going to see these clothes again, not if you want to leave Paris without being discorporated. Whether they end up on the floor or the guillotine outside makes little difference.’</p><p>Aziraphale looks about to protest, but Crowley pointedly grabs him by the cravat, tugging him forward until Aziraphale is standing between his legs.</p><p>‘Are you going to make me repeat myself? I thought you wanted to please me. On my lap, angel. Now.’</p><p>At his words, which Crowley had tried to deliver as a command but probably came out sounding like his most desperate wish - not untrue - Aziraphale releases a shuddering breath, eyelashes fluttering. Licking his lips, he slowly lowers himself until he is sitting astride Crowley.</p><p>Crowley's hands come up to grasp the Angel's hips, bringing him flush against his body so that their cocks are pressed together, trapped between their clothed stomachs. Crowley exhales sharply just as Aziraphale gives a low gasp at the contact. Meeting Crowley's heated gaze, Aziraphale lifts his manacled hands to place his arms around Crowley’s neck, letting the heavy chains drape down the Demon's back.</p><p>For a long moment, Crowley just watches him, taking in Aziraphale’s flushed face and the sheer warmth of his body. He smooths his palms up Aziraphale’s naked thighs, making an approving noise when they quiver, goosebumps breaking out under his teasing fingers.</p><p>‘You’re still fully dressed,’ Aziraphale observes, hot breath washing over Crowley's lips.</p><p>‘I am.’</p><p>‘Do you plan on changing that anytime soon?’</p><p>‘No.’</p><p>The blue eyes dim with visible disappointment. ‘Oh. I thought … I, I want to feel you.’</p><p>Crowley chuckles low in his throat, more endeared than he wants to let on. ‘Oh, believe me, angel, by the time I'm through with you, you'll have felt plenty enough.’</p><p>Aziraphale’s cheeks flame at that. With a soft cough, he presses on, ‘And me? Will you leave me like this?’ With a downward glance, he indicates his incomplete state of undress.</p><p>Crowley hums. ‘I'm rather appreciative of how you look like this. Garbed in such <em>finery</em>,’ he runs his hands over Aziraphale’s shoulders and back, tracing the expensive gold brocade, ‘and yet utterly <em>debauched</em>.’ His wandering hands dip under the jacket to grab Aziraphale’s unclothed rear, digging his fingers into the plump cheeks.</p><p>The Angel gasps in surprise, squirming in Crowley’s lap. The look of arousal on his face is maddening.</p><p>‘You like that, hmm?’ Crowley murmurs.</p><p>Again, he dreams of dragging this out, to spend hours upon hours exploring the familiar expanse of Aziraphale’s body with his hands, his mouth, until the Angel comes falling apart, begging to be fucked and filled.</p><p>Well, regardless, he is still determined to give Aziraphale the shag of the century, long overdue between them, before he loses control over time. Who knows how many years he stands to lose again, before he can have Aziraphale once more?</p><p>Massaging the plush flesh of his cheeks again, he presses the Angel closer before sliding his fingers into the warm cleft of his arse. Aziraphale jumps slightly, his chest heaving as Crowley miracles his fingers slick and circles Aziraphale's entrance with one, teasing the tight ring of muscle before gently pressing in.</p><p>Aziraphale moans at the intrusion, tensing for a moment before he melts against Crowley. He makes a helpless noise as Crowley begins to loosen him up, gently thrusting.</p><p>'C-Crowley...' His eyes, already taking on a dazed sheen, are focussed on the Demon’s mouth.</p><p>Crowley suppresses a shudder, perfectly aware of what Aziraphale is thinking - above all else, he prefers to have Crowley’s tongue first when it comes to preparation, a fact that never ceases to make Crowley preen and lose his damn mind.</p><p>But that's for another time. Today, Crowley has something else he’d rather do with his mouth.</p><p>‘Angel,’ he says breathily, as he carefully twists in a second finger inside Aziraphale, ‘kiss me.’</p><p>In the silence that follows, it feels as if time has stopped for both of them as well. Aziraphale stares at him, lips parted.</p><p><em>Shit</em>.</p><p>They have never asked each other for this before.</p><p>Oh, they kiss, all right. They kiss, without boundaries, without shame - without a single blessed care for the rest of the sodding world, whenever they fuck.Since Rome, always.</p><p>Fucking is the only time when Crowley is allowed to kiss Aziraphale, to taste his sweet lips and plunder that willing mouth, driving each other to distraction until they’re both as drunk on snogging as they are on sex.</p><p>It is the only time when Aziraphale doesn’t hold himself back, doesn’t mask his desire to be touched, doesn’t hide how much he <em>wants</em> Crowley.</p><p>But they don’t <em>ask</em>.</p><p>And now Crowley has overstepped a line, betraying the blessed ton of <em>feelings</em> he hides in a heart he is not supposed to have, and Aziraphale is staring at him.</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Has he ruined it all, with such a simple thing?*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">(* Nothing about them when they come together is ever simple. Not to Crowley.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>The frozen moment stretches to another beat.</p><p>And then time starts up again when Aziraphale, swooping down with a ragged exhale, captures his lips in a kiss far sweeter than should be possible when Crowley has him half-naked in his lap, two fingers deep in his arse.</p><p>With a soft whimper, Aziraphale moves their mouths together, deepening the kiss. He whines low in his throat when Crowley takes the encouragement to bite down lightly on his lower lip and suck it into his mouth. Aziraphale responds with enthusiasm, sliding his tongue into Crowley’s mouth as soon as the Demon relinquishes his lower lip, licking eagerly into him.</p><p>By the time Crowley has worked in three fingers, curling them to hit that sweet spot inside Aziraphale with every agonising thrust, the Angel is panting helplessly. He breaks away, meeting Crowley’s eyes with such open, unguarded affection that Crowley forgets to breathe for a moment, his fingers stilling.</p><p>‘C-Crowley!’ Aziraphale gasps, grinding down on his hand. ‘Oh, please, <em>please</em>, I’m ready! I - ohh,’ he throws his head back with a throaty moan, and Crowley can’t help but sink his teeth into the inviting arc of his exposed neck.</p><p>Aziraphale makes a strangled sound, rutting against Crowley as the Demon sucks a punishing bruise into the soft skin directly over his pulse. 'P-please...!'</p><p>'Please, what?' Crowley breathes, nuzzling into his neck as Aziraphale fucks himself harder on Crowley’s fingers. 'Tell me what you want, angel.'</p><p>'Ah! Ahh ... Crowley, d-don't - don't tease me!'</p><p>'I'm not teasing you.' Crowley tilts his head to suck on Aziraphale's earlobe. </p><p>'C-Cro - ohh! Oh, Crowley, pleas -!'</p><p>'I want to hear you, angel,' Crowley growls. 'Tell me what you want.'</p><p>‘You!' Aziraphale sounds wrecked, the syllable torn from his lips in a desperate shout. 'Oh, oh please - fuck me, Crowley! Now!<em> I need you</em>-’</p><p>Crowley shudders, letting the sound of Aziraphale's voice wash over him before he pulls his fingers free, eliciting a pitiful moan from Aziraphale. Dropping an apologetic kiss on the angel's neck, Crowley swiftly slicks up his aching cock, seizing the opportunity to slide his fingers over Aziraphale's straining prick as well.</p><p>'Crowley!' Aziraphale cries, bucking helplessly on his lap.</p><p>With another kiss, to the corner of his mouth this time, Crowley gently guides himself to the Angel’s loosened entrance.</p><p>The breath is knocked out of him when Aziraphale practically impales himself on Crowley’s prick, almost screaming at the stretch as he takes Crowley all the way in. Tightening his chained arms around Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale pants against his lips, eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>‘Alright, angel?’ Crowley whispers, reaching under his jacket to stroke his hips soothingly. Aziraphale is incredibly tight and snug around him, enveloping his throbbing cock in searing heat.</p><p>Aziraphale doesn’t answer, but his face gradually relaxes, smoothing out his lines until his expression is one of utter bliss. Opening his eyes blearily, he smiles again at Crowley, with the same affection from before.</p><p>The sight of it makes Crowley’s heart flutter helplessly, overcome with sheer emotion.</p><p>‘Hey,’ he whispers.</p><p>‘Hello,’ Aziraphale says back, and then gives a little breathy laugh.</p><p>He leans forward to press a tender kiss to Crowley's mouth, entrapping his lower lip between Aziraphale's teeth for an endless minute before he lets go.</p><p>‘Thank you, my dear, for rescuing me,’ he murmurs. And then he <em>moves</em>.</p><p>Crowley groans loudly as Aziraphale begins to fuck himself on his cock in earnest, working his hips increasingly harder as he rides Crowley. He tightens his arms around Crowley's neck, treating the Demon to a series of messy kisses when Crowley tilts his head up in a wordless request.</p><p>Aziraphale’s cock drags over Crowley’s clothed stomach, smearing precum over his black waistcoat. Crowley finds that he distinctly doesn’t care, not when he has Aziraphale's tongue in his mouth and his cock in Aziraphale's arse.</p><p>’S-so … so good!’ The Angel whines as he sets a near brutal pace, his jacket flaring around him as bounces on Crowley's lap.</p><p>‘M’ a Demon,’ Crowley grunts. ‘M’ not bloody good.’</p><p>‘You - you're so good to me!’ Aziraphale gasps, his hips stuttering. ‘A-always … always so - oh! S-so … good!’</p><p>Blessing under his breath, Crowley grabs Aziraphale by the waist, slowing his movements. He looks sharply up at him.</p><p>‘I’m going to fuck you, angel.’</p><p>Understanding dawns, and if anything, Aziraphale looks even more turned on than before. Bracing his forearms on Crowley’s shoulders and his feet on the ground, he raises his hips slightly. Crowley smirks for a moment; those dainty high-heeled shoes are good for something then.</p><p>Then he digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s hips and, leaning against the small backrest he'd miracled onto the stool, drives up into the Angel’s quivering hole, hard.</p><p>The sound Aziraphale makes is pure sin, and it falls from his lips again and again as Crowley pounds into him mercilessly.</p><p>‘Oh, C-Crow -! <em>Ohh</em>!’ Aziraphale’s arms dig into Crowley’s shoulders and he cants his hips to meet Crowley's thrusts. ‘C-Crowley! Yes! Right there…’ he moans.</p><p>Hissing under his breath, Crowley keeps up the angle of his hips, drinking in the sounds Aziraphale makes as he hits his prostrate.</p><p>‘P-please! Touch me, oh please!’</p><p>‘No, angel,’ Crowley growls, his own breath stuttering as he thrusts into Aziraphale. ‘I like you like this, writhing on my cock. You…’ He breaks off into a moan as Aziraphale clenches down on him, dizzy for a moment from the jolts of pleasure that shoot all through his prick. ‘Y-you … you’re, you’re, ah! G-gonna thank me l-like this, aren’t ya?’</p><p>Aziraphale almost sobs, his face screwed up with arousal and frustration as they move together.</p><p>Crowley meets his blazing eyes. ‘That’s it, angel,' he croons. 'Come on. I want you to come like this, on my cock. Untouched.’</p><p>And then Aziraphale practically screams as wings, whiter than the first snowfall of a cold winter, burst forth from his back. His whole body goes taut in Crowley’s arms, shaking uncontrollably.</p><p>Crowley goes still, jaw dropped as he stares in disbelief at the majestic plumage, spreading like a blinding cloud across the cell. Aziraphale rocks in his lap, his cock spurting all over Crowley’s front.</p><p>‘Damn, angel,’ he whispers. ‘That’s a first.’</p><p>His breath hitches as Aziraphale surges forward, kissing Crowley passionately as he comes down from his orgasm. He is heaving for breath when he draws back, the pupils of his startling blue eyes blown wide.</p><p>‘Show me, Crowley.’ His voice is trembling. ‘Show me your wings.’</p><p>'A-Aziraphale...'</p><p>But Aziraphale doesn't look away and Crowley, for the first time in too long, unfurls his wings; behemoths the colour of the night sky just before dawn, matching Aziraphale’s wingspan tip for tip as they stretch towards the walls of the cell that suddenly feel too cramped.</p><p>‘So beautiful,’ Aziraphale is murmuring, gazing on Crowley's wings with a look of pure enchantment. ‘You’re so beautiful.’ He shakes his manacled hands, making the chains clang loudly. ‘Take these off, please. Please take - I need to … I want to -!’</p><p>With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, the manacles fall from Aziraphale’s wrists. The Angel looks at Crowley once, eyes begging for permission. At his nod, he removes his arms from around Crowley's neck to sink his fingers, with heartrending reverence, into the dark plumage of Crowley’s wings.</p><p>Crowley shivers, his wings fluttering helplessly with pleasure at Aziraphale’s touch.</p><p>‘Beautiful,’ the Angel whispers again, running his hands almost lovingly over the feathers. He peers down at Crowley then, and the look in his eyes is infinitely soft. ‘Don’t stop, my dear. I want you to finish. Inside me, if you'd like ... please…’</p><p>Aziraphale’s breathy plea sends tremors through him.</p><p>'Go on,' the Angel whispers, and he grinds, just barely, on Crowley's aching cock still buried inside him. 'Come for me...'</p><p>With a helpless moan, Crowley grasps Aziraphale by the hips and helps to lift him again. He rustles his wings, tentatively and then once more with purpose, before looking Aziraphale in the eye - he flaps his wings, just hard enough to help snap his hips up off the stool, and thrusts inside Aziraphale.</p><p>The Angel cries out, his voice hoarse, as Crowley fucks into him, the force of his wings driving his cock impossibly deep. Crowley can’t tell for how long it goes on, but then Aziraphale's lips are on his and Aziraphale's hands are on his wings and he’s coming, shouting Aziraphale's name into his mouth.</p><p>At the same time, Crowley's hold on time fizzles out and it begins to tick again. The executioner, who had been frozen a ways behind Aziraphale, begins to turn and Crowley just barely gathers enough sense of self to snap his fingers, hiding Aziraphale and himself from human eyes in the nick of time.</p><p>Realising what has happened, Aziraphale waves a hand too. In a moment, he has swapped out in his fine clothing for the executioner's more modest garments. The change occurs mere seconds before two guards walk into the cell.</p><p>Aziraphale still astride Crowley on the stool, they watch as the guards drag the befuddled, protesting executioner out of the cell.</p><p>Silence falls again and Crowley looks up at Aziraphale, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>‘What was that about strongly worded notes for frivolous use of miracles?’</p><p>Aziraphale spares his new set of clothes a glance. ‘Hardly counts as a miracle,’ he says nonchalantly.</p><p>Biting his lip, Crowley smooths his palms over Aziraphale’s still nude thighs in a gentle caress. 'Just now - what we did ... was this what you wanted?’ he asks quietly.</p><p>The colour on his cheeks heightens but the Angel doesn’t reply this time. Gently, he removes his hands from where they are buried in Crowley's wings, bringing them to rest on the Demon's shoulders instead as he helps Aziraphale off his lap. They rise together but Aziraphale doesn’t pull away immediately, staying pressed warmly to Crowley’s front, their softening cocks brushing together.</p><p>Crowley finally removes his hands from around Aziraphale’s waist and the Angel steps away, on wobbly legs. There is a moment of silence, in which they avoid looking at each other; then, almost as one, the two of them put away their wings, folding them back into the spiritual plane, hidden from the human world.</p><p>Neither of them comments on what happened again.</p><p>With another snap of his fingers, Crowley cleans them both up next, vanishing the come staining his clothes and dripping out of the Angel. Aziraphale looks sharply at him then, and a very embarrassed Crowley recalls how Aziraphale often prefers to leave the mess after they shag.</p><p>As much of a turn-on that is, <em>that</em> was more appropriate during the eras of robes and other loose clothes for men, however; not now in a time of tight-fitting breeches - a fact that Crowley haltingly reminds Aziraphale of, his face burning.</p><p>Aziraphale just purses his lips and proceeds to pull on the breeches the executioner was wearing. Crowley turns away, a tad awkwardly, to put himself to rights as well.</p><p>When they are done and the silence between them grows loaded, Crowley feels the hollow numbness that usually follows their encounters start creeping upon him again. They’ve had their fill of fucking for now, the latest round of their wicked game. There's nothing left to do but part ways, lips sealed on their transgressions as always. Until their next meeting.</p><p>He almost jumps when Aziraphale places a hand on his arm.</p><p>‘I … Erm. I want to thank you again, Crowley. For the rescue.’</p><p>The Demon turns around slowly, staring. ‘Thought that’s what you were doing the whole time,’ he says bluntly, and immediately regrets saying it.</p><p>Aziraphale blushes, but to Crowley's surprise, he doesn’t seem upset. ‘Yes, well … I was wondering if I might buy you lunch?’</p><p>Crowley gapes even more. ‘What’s … for lunch?’</p><p>‘What would you say to some crepes?’ Aziraphale asks, and this time there are the beginnings of a smile on his face.</p><p>Crowley hesitates, at a loss. This is another first for them, again. Across most of their encounters, they usually end up fucking after drinks or a meal, after which they immediately go their separate ways. It’s not like Aziraphale to ask him to stay and spend time together after a tumble in the sheets*.</p><p> </p><p>(* Or on a stool, in this particular case.)</p><p> </p><p>‘Er. Sure, angel…’</p><p>Aziraphale grins then, a genuine look of happiness before he turns to lead Crowley out of the cell.</p><p>As Crowley, cautiously optimistic, follows him half a step behind, he can't help but notice that Aziraphale is unmistakably limping.</p><p>He swallows, unable to look away from the Angel as his pride wars with another round of arousal. Swallowing a smirk, he thinks back on the many times Aziraphale had taken him just as passionately as Crowley fucks him, and the inevitable ache that lingers between his legs for days afterwards.</p><p>The ache that Aziraphale is presently just <em>revelling</em> in, Crowley can tell, the smug bastard.</p><p>Without thinking and clearly still riding the high of an afternoon spent telling Aziraphale what to do, Crowley blurts,</p><p>‘Next time, you’re fucking me.’</p><p>Aziraphale’s steps falter in the middle of the dim stone corridor they are in. His face, Crowley can see, is steadily turning a fetching shade of red.</p><p>Before Crowley can say anything, or even take back what he has already said, the Angel spins on his heel and, for the very first time after sex, kisses Crowley. He wraps his arms around Crowley’s neck, holding him close as Aziraphale kisses him long and slow and deep.</p><p>Crowley blinks in shock when Aziraphale pulls back, but the Angel only smiles softly. And Crowley realises what the kiss, of which there most likely will not be a repeat, means:</p><p>
  <em>Next time. </em>
</p><p>A promise.</p><p>It is in rare moments like this when Aziraphale confuses him the most; when it seems so obvious that, even apart from his desire for Crowley when they are in bed together, Aziraphale feels for Crowley what the Demon has been feeling for the Angel since the very Beginning.</p><p>But when Aziraphale steps away, putting their usual distance between them once more, Crowley knows they won’t touch again.</p><p>Not until the next round of their wicked game.</p><p>And yet, after all these centuries, the sharp heartache of just being a tumble in the sheets dulls when Crowley is in Aziraphale’s company; when he finds himself talking and laughing with Aziraphale over crepes at a lovely French establishment, far away from all that is currently ugly in the world.</p><p>In those moments, it’s easy to forget that this is just a wicked game* they play, between an Angel and a Demon on opposite sides.</p><p> </p><p>(* It's easy to forget because Crowley is a fanciful thing and he tends to fancy, even if for just a moment, that Aziraphale harbours in his heart the same burning emotion Crowley nurtures for him.</p><p>But for that one moment, Crowley thinks it's not such a bad thing after all - not when Aziraphale is smiling at him, soft and tender, like Crowley had hung the very stars.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I keep thinking I'm done with this series, but then I'm set upon by new ideas. Exhibit A - this fic. I gotta take it easy with the smut writing, this can't be healthy at this point haha</p><p>(Just a note, in case anyone's wondering/interested - I considered writing top!Aziraphale here because, as I alluded to in the narrative of 'Stars, bear witness' and here in 'Sweet Offerings', they absolutely do switch it up. <s>My fav description of their dynamic is that they are a pair of bottoms who flip a coin to switch /snort/ </s> But the images in my head of dolled-up-Aziraphale-in-chains led me on, um, a whole other tangent i.e. this trash right here.<br/>I might stick with this pattern for this series though. I've grown exceedingly fond of my bastard pillow princess and his disaster service top lmao but we'll see)</p><p>That said, I would love to hear your thoughts on this fic/series! &lt;3</p><p>Come spazz at me on <a href="https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar">Twitter</a> or <a href="https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a></p><p>More of my Ineffable Husbands fics <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&amp;commit=Sort+and+Filter&amp;work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&amp;include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&amp;work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bquery%5D=&amp;work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&amp;user_id=Phoenix_Soar">here</a></p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
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        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431914">[Podfic] Sweet Offerings (have your wicked way with me)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion">Literarion</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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